Detective Hollywood Ford in: The Great Seed Heist

Escape From New Quack

The gilded opulence of the Aviary couldn't mask the change in atmosphere. It wasn't just the dimmed lights or the hushed voices of his chosen guests, a quiet replacing their usual boisterous banter at the intimate after-party; a gnawing unease rippled beneath it all. From his gilded throne, Mayor Gulliani observed - his beady eyes darting, seeking the source of the shift.

Earlier, during the main event, the tranquility had been disturbed. A brief tremor, a flicker in the lights, something that sent his hired guards muttering into their comms. He'd initially dismissed it as the usual party hiccups. But now, with Deacon's music filling the room – not with its usual melancholic sweetness, but with an edgy, almost desperate energy, his instincts screamed a warning.

The mayor had honed those instincts over years of shady deals and backroom maneuvering. This wasn't just a lull in the festivities; it was the calm before the storm. Someone was playing a game, one that made the feathers on his neck stand on end. His carefully crafted house of cards felt a breath away from crumbling, and he had no idea who held the winning hand.

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Pippin preened his feathers frantically, trying to smooth down the ruffled mess left by the encounter with the guards. His heart thumped a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a stark contrast to the laid-back persona he'd projected just moments ago.

"Nervous songbird," he muttered under his breath, a wry smile twisting his beak. The term fit more than he'd intended. He'd spun a yarn about exploring the Aviary for inspiration, his voice trembling convincingly. The guards, however, hadn't exactly bought it. Their gazes remained suspicious, like hawks eyeing a particularly plump sparrow.

To save his feathery neck, Pippin had resorted to a desperate measure. Launching into their most popular song, he delivered a painfully off-key rendition, complete with exaggerated warbles and squawks. The effect had been... less than stellar. But at least, it had been undeniably "entertainer."

A low chuckle escaped him, tinged with nervousness. It had worked. Sort of. The guards, looking utterly bewildered, had muttered something about "artistic temperament" and retreated, drawn away by the promise of the Mayor's after-party. Relief washed over him, leaving behind a chilling realization: they were pushing their luck. The operation, once a well-oiled machine, was starting to sputter.

He glanced at the door, picturing Hali out there, navigating the gilded labyrinth alone. His mind raced with a million questions. Had she gotten the evidence? Was she alright? A shiver snaked down his spine. They were at a critical juncture. If the Mayor caught on, things could get ugly... very ugly. Pippin straightened his ruffled feathers, his gaze hardening with determination. Playtime was over. It was time to join the band and finish what they started, one way or another.

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Hali scurried through the opulent halls, a wraith flitting through a gaudy dreamscape. The silence that had descended upon the Aviary after the music stopped pressed down on her, amplifying the thud of her own frantic heart. The weight of the backpack on her back felt like a lead anchor, threatening to drag her down with each hurried step. Panic gnawed at the edges of her mind, a cold serpent coiling tighter with every passing moment.

Then, salvation emerged from an unexpected corner. Tucked away in a shadowed alcove, a sleek black violin case stood abandoned, its plush interior beckoning. With a surge of desperate inspiration, Hali darted towards it. In a flurry of feathers and frantic movements, she emptied the case of its velvet lining and shoved the incriminating backpack within. The violin case, with its air of forgotten elegance, was a perfect disguise. A lost musician blended into the background far more seamlessly than a duck toting a bulging pack.